Here Comes the Sun
by As SWEET aS candyy
Summary: It's all really a domino effect.
1. The Sort of Prolouge

A/N Just watched "Dirty Dancing" and got this idea. First three chapters up!

The Sort of Prologue:

Twelve years after President Kennedy was shot, after Weight Watchers was founded in Queens, New York, after Martin Luther King Junior delivered his speech entitled "I Have a Dream", a girl named Dawn with brown hair down to there met a boy named Russell with boyish good looks in Peace Park. It was love at first sight and they were married after a year of dating. They still were in that honeymoon period like every pair of newlyweds goes through where everything is "lovey-dovey" and goosing each other every time they walked past one another and they spent more time in the bedroom then they did anywhere else. But that basking period ended when Dawn announced two words that nobody was prepared for: "I'm pregnant."

In 1984, when Madonna released her "Like a Virgin" album, when AIDS was discovered, and stonewashed jeans were introduced, a baby girl was born named Eleanor Maria Nash; me.

By the time I was five, I was still naive enough to believe that my parents fighting daily was a healthy way to vent emotions and strengthen the relationship between the two, my mother passing out on the couch after one or two or eight bottles of vodka was just her taking nap, and that my father would be home for Christmas instead of overseas.

By the time I was eleven I realized, however, that if Dad was home for the holidays he would use one of the crap gifts Mom had picked out and call it his own original idea, Mom was an alcoholic who would need a new liver by the time she was 56, and my parents fighting was just something I had to get used to.

It was the norm, things sucking, I mean. I learned harsh realities before kids my age even learned about puberty. But it was okay-- people crapping all over me, leaving me to pick up the pieces when things fell apart-- because I had developed this outer layer to protect myself from everything. But then I met Marco. He made me a person susceptible to pain and agony. But it was okay, because as my though outer shell started to deteriorate, I wasn't alone to pick up the pieces, because I had Marco-- a shoulder to cry on, a bed to sleep in when I didn't feel at home, a few extra dollars for lunch when my mom spent all the money on booze. I was fourteen at the time. I thought I had learned all the rules to life and was prepared for anything life threw at me. That's just proof how idiotic fourteen year olds can be.

I actually thought "BFF" was a true statement. But Marco started to grow up and grow apart, and weren't "Marco and Ellie" anymore. I had other friends along the way, though: Sean, Ashley, Jimmy, Paige, and eventually Craig. But each one had their own circumstances to how they proved "BFF" was lie. Sean: so hung up on his ex and burning inside. Ashley: had her midlife crisis at seventeen and ran away, returning when I graduated. Jimmy: that one is my fault. I broke his heart, just making the citation "Love the heart that hurts you, but never hurt the hurt that loves you," true. Craig: how can I sum this up? Befriend Ellie Nash, lead her on, break her heart, be thankful that you didn't entirely burn that bridge, leave, return, break her heart once again, and leave and not only burn the bridge set the entire city aflame.

And now I'm 23 and bitter, but I've learned a lot. I now know that when George Gershwin said, "Life is just a bowl of cherries," he was really sugar coating "Life is just a bowl of heartbreak and pain." And whoever discovered "forever" must have been high because, well, the truth about forever is that, it doesn't exist.


	2. The Domino Affect

The Theory of the Domino Affect:

About ten or so years ago, a band called Three Dog Night explained that one is the loneliest number. And let's face it; it was the anthem for recent break-ups. Even for the "dumper." And you would of thought more people would of tried avoiding being one, the "loneliest number" and stayed clear of being two, because two "can be as bad as one; the loneliest number since the number one."

And nobody likes being alone. Especially in your bed, twisted in sheets, with smelly pajamas and smelly armpits, feeling completely confused, remembering corny songs from the 70's, thinking about your past, staring at a leaky ceiling. And "it's just no good since you went away."

Okay, so I sent _him_ away, but he needed help, and I couldn't help him, unfortunately.

This is hard to admit, like admitting that I wasn't worth telling the truth to, that I wasn't the one who made his heart skip beats that I wasn't fucking enough for him.

But I blame my parents. 

Which I know is being reactive, instead of proactive. In the fifth grade my school counselor would come in and teach us something of "importance", something "we'd use later on life." She explained one day that being reactive is kind of being like a shaken up bottle of soda just waiting to explode: blaming others for your problems, lashing out at others, violence, drugs, et cetera et cetera. Now being proactive is having control of your life, accepting your screw ups, by not blaming others, and taking away something from them. I told her that anything that happens to me is because I fucked up and nobody is to blame but me. Her response was: "Well, Ellie, what if you were involved in a hate crime because you're an African American? Is it your fault that you're black?" My reply: "I probably deserved it. I probably pissed them off. It probably wasn't all because I was black. Just an excuse." She then said: "I wish I could take responsibility for things like you do." And she walked away from me.

That night, I was doing my homework, not bothering a soul, when my mother storms in drunk, she picks me up by my shirt collar and pins me up against the wall shaking me. Through gritted teeth, she says to me: "It's all your fault! It's all your fucking fault he's never home! I hate you and it's your entire fault!" She drops me to ground and slaps me across my face. "You worthless piece of shit!"

I gingerly touch my cheek and wince from the pain. Once I regain my equilibrium, I go back to my homework. I just stare at circumference homework that Ms. Weaver assigned. I glance from the compass blade then back to the math problems and back to the compass blade. I stare at the shiny point at the end. Danger was basically written all over it, all the pain was rising to the tip of needle. I grasp the blade with a shaky hand. "It is probably my fault he's never home." I dig into my skin and my body tenses, and now my whole body was shaking. "It's always my fault." I pull back on the blade, a thin line of crimson slowly emerging from the broken skin.

It wasn't the first time it had been all my fault, and it most certainly wasn't going to be the last.

But back to the topic of blaming my parents.

I have a theory called the "Domino Affect." It's like a game of dominos, but instead of dominos, you use all your relationships-- with friends, family, and boyfriends or girlfriends. Only you don't set it up. Your parents, parents, parents, parents, parents, et cetera, do. It's all their relationships and then your's, all the way at the back. And at any minute your bitchy Aunt Bertha can come by and tap the first domino/relationship over. Everybody stares as all the pieces fall on top of each other. They all turn to you. You take it as your cue, to pick up the pieces and put them in their place; you try to forget the heartbreak of when your boyfriend ran away, the loneliness you felt when your best friend left, and the regret after the person you loved and trusted and gave your heart and soul to throws everything away; everything you once had, everything you had that moment, and everything you could of had.


	3. Lonely By Your Side

Lonely By Your Side:

Sometimes you wake up and you just know the day is going the day is going to suck. It might be because the fact you woke up late. Or because your roommates used up all the hot water in the shower. Or because you made the mistake of dating your boss and breaking up with them and now to seek revenge they give you crappy jobs that even a person with no writing experience deserve; like going on coffee runs, sharpening pencils, or photocopying.

Sometimes you wake up and everything just seems great. You are on time and you get to take a shower in warm water. But then, the day turns to shit. You find out your boss that you dated has a new love interest. It shouldn't be that big of deal. I mean, you broke up with _him_, Ellie. But he's dating one of your friend's. Namely, Paige Michaelchuck. Ain't that dandy?

Then sometimes you wake up and it's a pretty crappy day, but it doesn't surprise you. You're late, the shower is freezing, and your boss is making out with Paige in the hallway. Oh, and your assignment today is to sharpen pencils. And not only that, but you arrive home to find that the boy you sent to rehab is being released and is starting school at your college. And moving in with you and your roommates.

"Elle, he did coke. That doesn't affect you in any way, shape, or form."

Only he doesn't know the other half of it. You know the other half where he kissed me and told me that he loved me only so he could still snort his drugs? Ring any bells?

It's not like I'm going to tell Marco about it either. So instead I sit at the kitchen table in silence listening to the sink drip and drop rhythmically.

He arrived on Sunday. I would kill to be anywhere than where I am right now, but where am I supposed to go? To The Core office to sharpen some more pencils? So I still sit at the kitchen table in silence listening to the sink drip and drop rhythmically.

"Hey Ellie." He greeted.

_Drip._

"How are you?"

_Drop._

He looked around the room uncomfortably. "Jesus ing Christ Eleanor Nash!" He took a brief moment to cross himself after using Jesus' name like that. "Give him a break."

I tore my eyes away from the ever so interesting kitchen sink, just in time to see Craig look down at the floor with a melancholy expression on his face. It makes me want to slap him for looking like a scolded puppy. Because he was just so hurt to be toyed with. Because he was just so hurt to have been so selfish. Because he's just a poor thing.

I didn't give him a break and I wasn't planning to either. I get up from the table and make my way up the stairs to my room. I slam the door trying to shut everybody out of my life and everything that did happen. I leave all the problems at the door along with all the people and happenings. Through the thin walls I heard Marco apologizing for my behavior to Craig.

Right about now I really hate bitchy Aunt Bertha for tapping on that first domino piece and causing all the pieces to fall.

Eventually, I did talk to Craig. But only because of what happened at dinner one night. Craig had asked me to pass the salt. I didn't even give him any acknowledgement. "Grow up, Ellie!" Marco yells at me as he rose from his chair. "He screwed up. He gets that. I get that. Dylan, Manny, Ashley; everyone! So just get over it! You got hurt, Elle, but you need to get over this little high school crush you have on him!" It was a minute or two before I looked at Marco. "I'm sorry, Elle, but you need to stop this nonsense." His voice was lower this time he spoke.

"We kissed," Craig said.

"What?" Marco asked shocked.

"The night before I left, she came backstage and we kissed. I told her I loved her, so she wouldn't tell Joey about what was going on."

Marco looked at me guilt stricken. "Ellie," he began, but I got up from the table throwing my napkin down and marching away.

A little while later Craig came by my room. "I'm sorry about what happened, but-"

"I'm a baby," I interrupt him. " I may be a baby, but I'm not a toy. You can't play with me. Your mother can't take me away when you misbehave. You can't throw me down like a yo-yo and expect me to come back up. You can't throw me at the wall and your dog can't chew me up. Because I'm not a toy. And you're a real idiot thinking that you could toy with me. You can't keep burning bridges, because you can't rebuild them. You just need to stop." By the time I finished I realized I had been crying. And God, I hate the fact that I'm so vulnerable around him.

"You're right, Ellie, I am a real dumbass. You should know that by now because of all the times you had to tutor me in math and practically write term papers for me. I don't get much. I don't get how the hell emc2 and why pie is 3.14 instead of crust and apples. And let's face it I couldn't tell you who E.E. Cummings is and why celebrities don't wear panties. And why I thought I could hurt you to an unbelievable extreme and you come out without a scratch. The only idea I have for not knowing is that I'm an idiot." He comes over to sit on my bed. I feel his hand stroke my hair. I turn to him with tear-filled eyes and he wipes them away. "You don't know how badly I missed your sarcasm and your cunning jibes. I missed the way your head always found the perfect place on my shoulder and your scent. You don't how many times I imagined the way your lips would feel against mine and once I had felt them you don't how badly I wanted to feel them again. I missed you, Ellie," He seemed like he was about to cry. He took one last good look at me before he got up.

But something took over me and I grabbed is hand and I pulled him back onto my bed. I kissed him and he kissed back. "Now you can feel the way my lips feel against yours."

We kissed and kissed and kissed some more. Craig slid off my top and I undid his jeans. He massaged my neck with kisses and I opened my legs so he could lay on top of me. I don't know whether it was the way Craig's skin felt against mine or the fact I missed him, but Craig went from ex-best friend to sex.

Sometimes you wake up and everything seems blurry. There's a boy in your bed and you're naked and you're trying to wrap your head around his, but you don't need to think about what happened because you already know from the blood on the sheets and the condom wrapper on the floor and the bra and boxers on the tossed around the room what happened. You quickly and quietly climb off the bed and head for the bathroom. You steady yourself by leaning on the counter. One quick look at yourself in the mirror and you feel sick to your stomach. You quickly drop to the floor and throw up in the toilet. As you back away from the porcelain toilet, you realize that you just had sex and you're on the floor in the nude with vomit on the corners of your mouth. All you can think right now is, I'm the idiot.


End file.
